In the time it takes for the fox to hesitate, Wren strikes out. One of her swords catches Naja’s shoulder. Blood spurts in an arc, staining her snow-white fur. Hissing, she lashes out, her heel cracking across Wren’s jaw, making her head snap round and drawing a spurt of red, the crunch of bone.
The two of them drop back into defensive stances, chests heaving. Wren swipes a sleeve across her mouth.
Then Naja looks to me. Her eyes widen. “Watch out!” she yells.
Wren pivots to look, lowering her swords a fraction—and opening up space for Naja to attack.
But I saw what the fox was planning a second before she acts. As Naja kicks off her back feet, I lunge to intercept. We collide with a crunch. Pain screams through me as my broken rib is crushed even more, the gashes in my shoulders ripping open. I throw a punch, but it’s weak and she overpowers me in a second. Tosses me aside. She swings an arm back, clawlike fingers aiming for my throat—
“Wren! Lei!”
Naja falters as Kenzo bounds into view.
He moves fast on his muscled wolf haunches. He’s gripping a bamboo stick sideways in both hands. Its ends drip with blood.
“Go!” he roars. “There’s no time!”
Naja’s face is wild. “Keeda-lover!” she spits.
She starts upon him in a whir of kicks and claw swipes. Kenzo holds her off with his staff, his powerful wolf haunches digging into the earth as she pushes him back.
“Go!” he shouts at us again.
Wren hesitates, her eyes slipping back to their normal brown. “But—”
“Now!”
She stows her swords and grabs my hand. As she pulls me away, I look back over my shoulder and catch one last glimpse of the King’s body sprawled upon the bloody grass. He looks strangely small. His limbs are thrown out at his sides, as if he’d fallen over from too much sake. At his neck, the knife juts, sticking up where I left it, and a ragged exhale escapes my lips.
It’s over. It is done.
I did it.
The King is dead.
Wren leads me in the direction of the Floating Hall, the growls and thuds of Naja and Kenzo’s fight fading behind us. As the trees start to thin, the hall comes into full view. It’s utterly consumed by flames, a glowing dome of gold. Heat blazes off it. The noise is a living thing, full with electric crackling. From under it come the sounds of battle; metallic clash and hoof thunder, screams and yelling. Flecks of burning ash drift through the air, like the opposite of snow.
This is it, then. Master Takeo’s prediction. A night of smoke and flames, the palace destroyed from the inside out by a girl with fire in her veins.
“What happened?” I call out to Wren as we run.
“Our cover was blown,” she shouts back. Her hair whips behind her. “Someone must have given us away. You got to the King just in time.” She squeezes my hand. “You did it, Lei. You killed him.”
I almost trip. “But now the court knows who was involved! Everything you were working for, the care you all took to keep it secret—”
“We’ll worry about that later.”
“And why are you even here? You shouldn’t have come back, Wren. You shouldn’t have risked it.”
“Of course I came back. I had to make sure you were safe.”
When we reach the edge of the gardens, the ground shifts from loamy earth to a hard stone path. We’re right by the hall now. Underneath, the lake glows from the blaze above. Its surface fissures with ripples—the fish are jumping, stirred by the heat. There are bodies in the water, and I cast a terrified eye over them, praying that none of them belong to Baba or Tien.
My stomach jolts. Kenzo promised to keep them safe. But how can he protect them when he’s fighting with Naja?
“My father,” I choke. “Tien—”
“They’re being looked after,” Wren promises.
Slowing, she leads us around to the east side of the lake. I’m finally able to breathe somewhat normally, though now that the shock is wearing off, pain replaces it. My wounds from the King’s and Naja’s attacks burn and throb. They’re hurting more with every step, but I grind my teeth together, determined not to show it.
“How are we getting away?” I ask.
Wren looks round, firelight sliding across her face. “The same way I got here so quickly. Wings.”
With a tug on my arm, she pulls me off the path and into the undergrowth. We swipe away the tangled branches. The ground is uneven, clumped with roots. I focus on my steps, trying not to trip.
I hear the demon before I see him: the deep rumble of giant lungs. Wren calls out, and a croaky voice answers.
“Did you find her?”
“Yes,” she replies as we emerge into a dappled grove. “Merrin—meet Lei.”
Wind tugs the furled petals of flowers from the magnolia trees lining the clearing, a whirling flurry of pink and white. Some of the leaves catch on the dusky pewter feathers of the huge bird demon rising to greet us. He is an owl-form, far larger than any demon I have seen, with an intelligent face—beaked owl features molded with human—and keen orange eyes. Like Madam Himura’s, his arms are long and humanoid, rippling feathers wound over them and fluting out at the edges in the weird hybrid wings that all bird-forms share. He has his elbows cocked, his wings only extending halfway in the small grove, but still their span is impressive. Each feather is tipped with black. Power thrums from him, and as we approach he stands a little taller, the pierce of his eyes making me falter.
“Merrin?” I say.
He gives me a mock bow. “At your service, lovely. But I’m afraid we have to hurry the introductions.” His head tilts, listening. “Someone’s coming, and I doubt it’s a welcoming committee.”
He dips a wing to the ground. Wren leads me up along it and onto his back. I try to move lightly; his feathers are soft, downy-light.
Merrin laughs, a rattling sound at the back of his throat. “No need to be so gentle, sweetheart. I’ve caught mice for dinner heavier than you.”
Behind me, Wren tucks her legs alongside mine and leans forward, gripping the back of Merrin’s feathered neck. “Ready?”
Before I can answer, we jerk back.
There are shouts, thudding footsteps.
A blaze of arrows cut through the air.
“Hold on!” Wren yells, pinning me down as Merrin kicks off the ground so powerfully the shudder in his muscles ripples through my own.
We lift into the air, the forest rushing past. A second volley of arrows fly our way and Merrin careens sharply to the side to avoid them. An arrow tip grazes my cheek. He banks. One wingtip brushes the treetops. He rolls a tight corner, then beats hard to gain height. In just a few seconds we are soaring high, the clouds just above our heads, a dark, silver-glazed belly.
I’ve always wanted to fly, to know what it’s like to dance on the wind currents.
The reality is nothing like I imagined. Merrin cuts fast through the air, the pounding of his winged arms rocking Wren and me, and I cling to his feathers, convinced I’m about to slide off his back at any second.
Far below, the palace is a blaze of lights and fire. Relief washes over me, as fierce and radiant as a sunburst.
We’re free.
Then Wren cries out, “To the right!”